Spick Spock, Sick Spock
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: Hyposprays aside, the thought of having to visit a doctor- Doctor McCoy- made Spock's stomach turn. Unfortunately, if he didn't make the conscious decision himself, Captain Kirk would probably order him there, anyway. The outcomes, either way, Spock rationalised, were simply not desirable. Spock!sick!fic.
1. 2307 Hours: Experiencing a Headache

**Spick Spock, Sick Spock**

Spock rubbed his fingers against his temples in slow circular movements, trying to fend off the building headache beneath his skin. It was an illogical action but the pounding was distracting at best and actually painful at worst.

He braced his elbow against the table and placed his forehead against his palm, closing his eyes.

It was strange that he had a headache at all in the first place. Pain was certainly not unknown to him. He had spent too many years in the first officer's seat of a ship manned by perhaps the most irrational man in all of Starfleet to not have experienced pain. It was a common side-effect to having a Captain who did not believe in no-win scenarios. He could count ten significant injuries that he had sustained in the past three months: acid burns, broken arm, temporary blindness, the list went on and on.

So, why was a _headache_, of all things, rendering him incapacitated? It was illogical.

Spock removed his head from his hand and picked up his clipboard.

He was halfway through star mapping for the Captain and, while it was not necessary to finish at the exact date and time, Spock liked to have his duties performed ahead of time. While he doubted that any error would occur, by finishing tasks early, he would have time to fix any problem if they should arise. Efficiency was always the best policy.

He continued to make notes for another ten minutes before he was met with another irrefutable truth: his headache was compromising his work. At this rate, his likelihood of error would jump to six to ten, in favour of error.

Spock set down the pen with a quiet sigh.

The display read that it was just past 2300 hours. Mostly everyone, if not all, would already be sleeping at this time. The medical staff had been kept busy with an outbreak of illness, so they would be working around the clock. Kirk had dismissed him from the Bridge at 2147 hours, commenting that he was leaving a helmsmen with the conn so the rest of them could finish their pre-assigned duties and catch some shut-eye. They had been running on pure adrenalin for nearly five days now, chasing a cosmic storm. It wasn't particularly taxing, but the stress on the rest of the crew was taking effect. Several planets had been hit by the storm's aftershocks and it had been the _Enterprise_'s duty to assist in repair. The cosmic storm had just fizzled away to nothing, but the crew had been pleased to hear that shore leave was within sight.

While shore leave was unappealing, Spock found that the moment where he could meditate, alone and without interruption, was an enticing thought. A Vulcan trance was far better than the trouble that Captain Kirk could get into on a shore leave planet.

Spock leaned back, pressing two fingers against his temples. It did not help the pain aspect.

There was a buzz at his door.

Spock raised his head, folding his arms on the desk. "Enter."

Uhura strode into the room, her face set into an unreadable mask that generally did not bode well for her mood. Spock was instantly wary, although it simply took a raised eyebrow to produce the explanation from her.

"Kirk just got orders from Starfleet. Remember Gemma VII?" she asked, unzipping her uniform boots and kicking them off.

Spock nodded once. "The neighbouring planetoid of Chartin IV, devoid of life. Class-N, rich in plutonium and precious jewels."

"Yeah. As it turns out," Uhura said, stretching out across Spock's bed and staring stonily at the ceiling, "the effects of the storm stretched to Gemma and it's effecting the production. Mining is top-priority."

Spock's eyebrows drew together. "The _Enterprise_ is not equipped-"

"- for mining operations, I know," Uhura interrupted. "We're going to be acting as a cargo ship for the next three solar weeks."

Spock, if he were sharing the sentiment of four-hundred other people on board the _Enterprise_, would have groaned at the statement. Cargo shipments meant that shore leave was second-priority. While shore leave was neither peaceful nor relaxing for Spock, it meant that he would have had a week with limited fuss on time constraints and human idiosyncrasies.

As it were, he simply acknowledged the statement by watching Uhura press her arm over her eyes. "I know I'm the communications Lieutenant, but after _so_ many signals on all those frequencies the past week..."

"It is our duty to assist planets of the Federation in need," Spock reminded.

Uhura gave him what Spock had ascertained to be a look of loathing. "I know that, Spock, don't quote Regulation."

Spock raised an eyebrow before pushing himself to his feet. His headache was still there and he felt strangely tired. The world seemed to rush headlong at him as he stood and there was a brief sensation of light-headedness for a moment. It passed almost as quickly as it had arrived, although Spock had three fingers splayed against the desk for support.

"Spock?"

Spock looked at Uhura in inquiry.

"Are you all right?"

"I experienced a brief moment of light-headedness, but I feel fit now," Spock admitted. "It is probable that the temperature here is too warm for my body to compensate for."

"I meant to ask; it's like an oven in here. The nineties are tolerable, barely, but it's sweltering," Uhura muttered, swiping a stray strand of hair from her face.

"I adjusted the temperature to one-hundred and five degrees," Spock replied. "I was feeling cold earlier. The temperature change doesn't seem to have had much effect, however, and I can adjust it fittingly for you if you wish." His voice trailed off into a tone that spoke of a question.

Uhura sat up, looking at him closely. "Spock, are you sure you're alright? You look peaky."

Spock raised an eyebrow, looking towards the mirror. His complexion was minutely more pale than usual and there was a sheen of sweat beginning to form on his skin. Perhaps the room _was_ slightly too warm for his body to compensate. Usually, he kept it at a comfortable ninety-three degrees. Despite his body telling him that he was too warm, he felt unusually cold.

It was regrettable about the shore leave, although the logic was sound. Still, Spock could have used the meditative trance to rebalance himself.

"I was entertaining the idea of rest when you visited," he said, striding to the thermostat and adjusting the temperature to accommodate Uhura. "My first priority is a sonic shower and then rest."

"Good. When was the last time you got some sleep?" Uhura asked, getting to her feet.

"Three point seven days ago," Spock replied automatically as Uhura wrapped her arms around him. He allowed himself to lean forward, letting her warmth encompass him.

"Spock," she voiced, her tone taking on a chastising tone.

"Sleep is unnecessary," he replied tonelessly.

"It is necessary every so often, Spock, and you know it. Don't fight what's logical." Spock melded his sigh into a simple exhale as Uhura dropped her arms, stepped away. "Have your shower and come to bed."

Spock raised an eyebrow again. The question, he was sure, was visible on his face: _you are joining me?_

"I figured I could keep you warm," Uhura replied easily, turning to walk back to the bed.

"Logical," Spock replied. "I will return in eight point three minutes."

As it turned out, when he returned to his room eight point three minutes later, he barely made it to the bed in his exhaustion. He had made a last minute decision to have a traditional shower rather than a sonic shower and the hot water had rendered his legs slow and his body heavy. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep soundly until morning.

The throbbing pain in his head did not go away. He did not sleep soundly until morning.

When he woke up again, it was three in the morning and his stomach was churning.

He removed Uhura's arm silently from where it was draped across his side, slowly shuffling onto his back. Pressing his own arm over his eyes and knitting his fingers into the hem of his shirt, he took a slow breath to re-establish that he was the only one in control over himself.

Be that as it may, he realised, it may very well be time to visit Doctor McCoy.

The doctor was going to be smug with himself for a least a month, Spock was sure.

* * *

**I didn't intend for so much Spock/Uhura, but I didn't want to start this sick!fic like the other sick!fic I worked on. Never fear; Kirk/Spock interaction will ensue. Please don't let the Spock/Uhura turn you away if you don't like it.**

**I do not own _Star Trek_. Thank you.**

**P.S. I promise that, if you've been following me for other fandoms, I _will_ get back to _Sherlock_. It's just that I'm working my way through seventy-some episodes of _TOS_ of _Trek_ and several movies and... well, there's only two series' of _Sherlock_. I don't mean to disappoint my _Sherlock_ fans. _Sherlock_ is still number one in my heart. :)**


	2. 0523 Hours: A Sneaky Sickbay Visit

Spock had to face the logical facts. His head was pounding, his throat was sore, and his stomach was unsettled. Given the knowledge that there had been an outbreak of Rigelian Kassaba fever ever since returning from a reconnaissance mission, it was a logical assumption to state that Spock had caught the Rigelian Kassaba fever.

Logic, however often a cruel way of thinking, was the only acceptable solution to any given problem. That was how Spock woke a half hour early in preparation to admit himself into Sickbay. At this time of morning, he was sure that Doctor McCoy would not be awake. Oftentimes, the doctor would not arrive in the medical bay until late, a cup of black coffee in his hand and his eyes still lacking intent due to exhaustion. The logical solution would be for McCoy to go to bed earlier so that he would be more rested in the morning, but that never did seem to cross the doctor's mind.

Besides, as far as Spock could tell, McCoy never gave much thought to his own health, only to anyone else's. It was not logical.

The medical bay doors slid open and the familiar scent of medicinal remedies and disinfectant met his sense of smell. He strode into the pristine, although occupied, medical bay, seeking out Nurse Chapel. The woman in particular had a penchant for playing servant to him on some occasion, so Spock thought it was wise to seek someone who he knew would be willing to help eradicate his illness.

"Commander Spock," Chapel greeted, although her smile was marred by worry from the instant she looked up.

"Nurse, it would seem wise to examine me for the symptoms of Rigelian Kassaba fever. I have been exhibiting symptoms."

"Oh, not you, too, Commander. We've had too many cases this week. Let me call M'Benga for you and he'll examine you."

Spock took a seat silently on the nearest free biobed, the screen immediately picking up his stats. They were just as he expected them to be: respiration up, pulse up, blood pressure up. A miniscule change to his normal stats, but a change nonetheless that signalled an internal infection.

"He'll be with you shortly, Mr Spock," Chapel said, peering up at the screen. "Can you explain your symptoms?" she asked, taking her medical tricorder in hand and holding it nearby.

"I experienced an intense headache last night at 2300 hours. It was followed by brief periods of light-headedness and nausea. I have also been unnaturally cold and tired." Spock reeled his symptoms off in a monotone, the high-pitched whirring of the tricorder making his ears throb. "It seems that I am experiencing some sensitivity to sound, as well."

"You have an elevated temperature. M'Benga will have to check it against Vulcan readings, but it higher than checked at your last physical."

"Commander," a voice greeted and Spock looked up to the smiling face of M'Benga. "You've caught the fever, too, Christine says."

"His temperature is elevated. As well as his other stats, I think it's a case of the Rigelian fever, M'Benga," Chapel stated, speaking to M'Benga. "I called for you due to your knowledge of Vulcan physiology. If that's what it is, I'll give him a dose of Stokaline."

"Alright, Nurse." M'Benga looked up at Spock. "Shall we hunt out the source of those symptoms, then?"

* * *

Spock frowned as he stared into the scanner. "It's some type of debris."

"From _what_, Spock?"

"If I knew, Captain, I would have specified." He looked away from the scanner, blinking against the after image of the glow.

His morning in medical bay had not gone for naught. M'Benga had concurred with Nurse Chapel's diagnosis. As Spock had thought, he had fallen ill with the Rigelian Kassaba fever. As a course of treatment, he had been administered the correct dosage of Stokaline and he'd refused rest on the grounds that he was expected on the Bridge in the next hour. M'Benga had said not to worry about any sudden nausea- as with all hyposprays, this one would turn his stomach as well- and that, as was typical with the Rigelian fever, Spock would need to return for periodic treatments throughout the next three days. Each hypospray would only effect him for a short time, but once there was enough of the antibiotic in his blood stream, the fever would no longer be able to survive.

As was with any dosage of Stokaline, his initial dose was wearing off. It had helped. The headache had dulled, he had been able to withstand Kirk's overly enthusiastic greeting as he bounded onto the Bridge ten minutes late, and he was within a reasonable temperature to his own skin again.

But now, not only had the previous symptoms returned, new ones had surfaced. He was experiencing sensitivity to light now as well as sound, he was growing increasingly irritable by design of the headache that was turning into a migraine, and his stomach was churning miserably.

"I need an answer, Spock," Kirk muttered, eyes on the screen at the front of the ship.

"I cannot provide an answer to a question that I have insufficient data for," Spock retorted coldly, straightening up.

The Bridge door slid open, but Spock didn't look up to see who it was. It would have been unnecessary because, a moment later, his name was called in a voice he knew too well.

"Spock! You sneaking green-blooded hobgoblin!"

Spock looked up, trying to feign disinterest. He raised an eyebrow, meeting Doctor McCoy's livid gaze. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes, the problem is you're carrying Rigelian Kassaba fever throughout the halls!" McCoy barked, turning to Jim. "Did you know about this?"

Kirk looked between Spock and McCoy. "What? Know about what?"

"Spock's got that fever that a few of the landing party caught after recon, latest mission."

Spock wanted to sigh, instead permitted himself a moment to briefly flare his nostrils and turn back to the scanner. No change on the debris floating in space, although he wished that there had been. He would rather distinguish debris types than be berated by their ship's Chief Medical Officer. It wasn't as though Spock had been trying to avoid Doctor McCoy this morning; he simply hadn't desired for the man's company during his exam.

"Spock?"

Spock looked up at Kirk's voice and turned in his chair to meet his gaze. "It is true that I admitted myself, briefly, to Sickbay this morning for an exam. When it was found that I had what I thought I had fallen ill with, the necessary antibiotics were administered. I saw no reason for me to refrain from attending to my duties."

"Dammit, Spock, _germs_!"

Spock looked back at Doctor McCoy. "Is it not the point of an antibiotic to stop any potential contagious matter from spreading?"

"Yeah, but you're a Vulcan, not a human! These things don't work like they do on us. Get your arse down to Sickbay, Spock, _now_!"

"I do not find it necessary for my sitting in medical bay when I am fit. However, I am due for another dosage of Stokaline, so, if you will excuse me, Captain?" He stood, straightening his shirt.

"He excuses you," McCoy said, ushering him out.

Spock calmly looked across the Bridge at Kirk, awaiting the dismissal.

"Dammit, Spock-"

"Go on," Kirk said. "Chekov, take over the scanner. Sulu, you're on your own for now. Spock," he said, looking back at him. "Take the rest of the day off."

Spock frowned and opened his mouth to protest, although found it prudent to close it very quickly again when bile clawed its way to the back of his throat. He knew arguing the point of his health was only worsening it. Each moment that he spent overexerting himself was a moment that he could have spent in a meditative trance or sitting quietly. Arguing, much less with a doctor, was going to get him nowhere.

"As you wish... Captain," he said, turning to stride from the Bridge.

He could practically hear McCoy smirking _and_ fuming at the same time as they stepped onto the turbolift. The doctor was smug for the fact that he had finally caught up with Spock and angry for the fact that Spock was overexerting himself. Or perhaps he was simply annoyed that he had missed up a chance to continue his taunts on him. It was undecipherable to Spock.

He swallowed back bile for the second time and chose to lengthen his stride, hastening for the shared lavatory down the hall. It was more healthy to vomit than keep swallowing his own bile and it was also likely that the action would improve his state of turmoil. Not to mention that the nausea would increase as soon as he was injected with another dose of Stokaline.

"Spock-"

Spock held up one hand, one finger, in the human signal of _one moment_. He didn't wait to see if McCoy was going to allow him a moment or not; there was no available moment to spare.

When he had finished, he straightened up, rubbed the back of his hand against his mouth and exited the cubicle... to walk directly into Doctor McCoy.

Instead of a smart remark, however, McCoy's tone was serious. "When was your last dosage, Spock?"

"Approximately seven point three hours ago," Spock replied immediately, although he felt off the top of his game, as humans put it. He walked around McCoy to the sink, where he washed his hands without a word.

"Did it help at _all_?" McCoy asked, taking his handheld tricorder from his belt. "You're up for another dose, but you look like shit."

Opting not to state the obvious- which was that he felt miserable- Spock dried his hands robotically and stepped back into the corridor. "As with typical medicine, it had its benefits and detriments."

"In other words, it made you nauseous."

"That would be the correct assumption, doctor."

"Did it help your symptoms?"

"It alleviated some of the discomfort."

"Only some?"

"That is correct."

"But they're back now?"

"Obviously."

They walked into a deserted medical bay together. It was mid-afternoon and there was no one in Sickbay; it meant that the cases of the Rigelian Kassaba fever had cleared up enough for the patients to be discharged. That was good news, except Spock seemed to be feeling worse, not better. There were some cases, like now, where he harboured an intense displeasure in his half-human half-Vulcan physiology.

"Sit down," McCoy said, waving a hand at the nearest biobed. "I want to see your stats."

"Doctor, I find it unnecessary-"

"I wasn't asking you, dammit! This is my Sickbay; sit down!"

Spock, eyebrows raised, sat down.

His stats had gotten worse. His blood pressure had rocketed for reasons that he himself couldn't pinpoint and even as he watched his pulse-rate on the screen, he felt his heart pounding in his ears at a pace that didn't seem to match.

"Your green blood makes everything unpredictable," McCoy muttered, mostly under his breath. "I don't know if I should up your dosage or lower it... That blood pressure's not good."

Spock didn't say anything, partially because he didn't have anything to say and partially because the room was spinning and he felt too warm. Perhaps he should have stayed on the Bridge; with something to distract his mind, he had not noticed his symptoms to this intensity.

"Spock?"

"I'm experiencing vertigo, doctor. If you could administer the Stokaline in the near future, you would have my gratitude."

"Well, that would be a first," McCoy muttered. "Alright, hang on. I'm going to give you a sedative, too, so take it when you get back to your quarters. I shouldn't even discharge you but-"

"I will refrain from contact with the other members of the crew until my symptoms have calmed," Spock said.

"Damn straight, you will." There was the hiss of a hypospray against his arm. "Here's the sedative. It'll knock you out right away, so be prepared to fall asleep wherever you take it."

Spock took the tablet in hand, loosely curling his fingers around it. "Inform Captain Kirk that I-"

"- cannot return to your post today; yeah, I think he already figured that out. The words 'Rigelian' and 'Kassaba fever' might have given it away." McCoy rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Spock, Jim can handle himself without you for a day or two."

Spock couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. The last time that Spock had been dismissed from duty was due to a necessary stop to New Vulcan and Kirk had managed to break five bones in the process of one mission over three hours without Spock there.

"I think," McCoy muttered.

Feeling infinitely more unhealthy than he had upon realising that he was ill, Spock got to his feet and strode from the medical bay without another word.

* * *

**Because they never can just have a civil conversation. Tense Spock/Bones in all its glory. Don't worry; the tension will subside. And there's Spock/Kirk to come. And probably some awkward Spock/Uhura (but, less on that and more on the awkward boys).**

**I do not own _Star Trek_.**

**Thank you!**


	3. 1739 Hours: The Doctor and the Captain

Spock was, in a fit of humanity-induced sickness, starting to feel sorry for himself.

He was miserable, caught in the throes of Stokaline-induced symptoms and Rigelian Kassaba fever. Miserable was not a word he used lightly and he wished that he did not have to use it now, but there was no other logical alternative.

His headache had returned with a vengeance, to the point where he was contemplating that it was a _k'an'tran_ and not just a headache. There was no Terran word for it. 'Migraine' would suffice in to describe the symptoms, but not the intensity.

He clenched his teeth and slowly lowered his head to his desk as another wave of pain crashed upon him. He searched for the spot in his mind that would lessen the pain, that would put his mind into a state less noticeable, but he could not find it through the pain haze.

Spock blinked slowly and purposefully, trying to clear away the creeping darkness from his eyes. He was not in danger of passing out from the pain, but the pain itself was causing a reaction to his vision. It would not be uncommon if he were to lose sight in one or both of his eyes before the _k'an'tran_ passed, if this headache were that.

He was becoming more inclined to believe that it was.

Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades, making tremors shake his body in ways that he was not accustomed to. Rarely did he feel conflicting temperatures. The Bridge on the _Enterprise_ was tolerable and his quarters were perfect for his species, but he was now sweating and shivering at the same time.

He raised his head and wiped sweat from his brow, picking up his PADD. His hands were trembling.

It seemed illogical to continue trying to work.

He had returned to his quarters after his consultation with Doctor McCoy. He had followed orders seamlessly; McCoy had said to rest. Spock had discarded the sedative, but he had sat down and picked up his PADD for some light mental work. That was the Vulcan equivalent of rest.

But his efficiency even to comprehend (or with the _k'an'tran_, correctly see) the words on his display was below par. He set the PADD down quietly. It was illogical to continue work, but sleeping seemed a waste of time. Certainly, he felt unwell enough to, but it was... a certain laziness that he was not and did not wish to be accustomed to.

The metallic buzz of the door made him wince. His ears ached. He rubbed his eyes briefly and sat at attention.

"Come in."

Kirk strode into his quarters, only to stop as though he had walked into an invisible wall. "It's _hot_ in here!" he exclaimed. "And you look like shit."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "You have caught me at less than my best."

"I kind of figured that out when Bones was storming around, complaining. Why didn't you tell me you were sick? We can kind of manage without you for a few days."

"It is in my experience that you cannot."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "Didn't Bones tell you to sleep?"

"I am resting."

"Resting for you isn't the same as sleeping. That's why he said to _sleep_." Kirk yawned, flopping back on Spock's bed as though he had just told _himself _to sleep. "What's your fever?"

"I do not know."

"Really? You don't know something?" Kirk asked, sarcastic humour audible.

"I am not in possession of a medical tricorder, Captain. I cannot make a guess because my ability to assess temperature is skewed."

"Well, yeah, that's what a fever does to you. Have you had your Stoka-whatever lately?"

"I will not need another... dose until 1900 hours," Spock said slowly, curling his fingers into his palms as nausea seized his stomach. He let out a slow breath, trying to maintain the churning pain.

"You alright?" Kirk asked awkwardly.

"Nauseous," Spock allowed.

"... If you're gonna hurl, I'm gonna leave."

"It may be wise," Spock replied, pushing himself to his feet. "Excuse me." He brushed past Kirk to his bathroom.

When he returned, Kirk was, despite his words, still in his room, although he was sitting up now. His eyes locked onto Spock as he walked back into the room.

"Captain-" Spock started, stopping to clear his throat. "It is unwise to expose yourself to this infection."

"Shouldn't you have thought about that before joining us on the Bridge? Besides, I've been around you all day and I had a vaccination when Bones first started noticing the symptoms around the ship. Why didn't you?"

"Typically, Vulcan physiology destroys bacteria before it can progress. I forget to take into consideration that I _am_ half-human and therefore, more susceptible." _Unfortunately_, he added to himself. He loathed his half human side for situations such as this.

He was about to continue when he stumbled over, assumingly, his own feet and crashed to the floor. The surprise of tripping and falling at all was only overtaken by pain. The headache spiked, vertigo took his senses, and his stomach roiled with the sudden movement. His body was rebelling against him. He wasn't positive of if he could get back to his feet.

"Spock!"

He winced when Kirk's hand gripped his shoulder. Regretting the movement, he held himself very still in an attempt to regulate what was going wrong.

"Spock?"

Spock hesitantly held up a finger, signalling to give him a moment. Kirk's worry was practically tangible in the air around him and it did little to settle Spock's nerves. After a moment, he opened his eyes to find that the spinning sensation had lessened. The nausea, however, had not.

"Captain... Jim..." he started weakly.

"Yeah, can you walk?"

Spock didn't question how Kirk knew what he wanted- logic would dictate that he had probably gone pale when the nausea returned- because he was too focussed on not vomiting. He nodded slightly, a slight inclination of his head as he allowed Kirk to haul him to his feet.

He accepted the help to get back to the bathroom, only managing to collapse to his knees in front of the toilet before he threw up violently. He didn't comment when Kirk made a disgusted noise behind him, although a brief flash of irritation accompanied. He hadn't been the one to tell him to stand there and watch, even if he did appreciate the help that had gotten him to the bathroom again in the first place.

"Are you _sure_ you don't need another dose of Stokaline?" Kirk asked critically when Spock could catch his breath again.

"No. Besides..." he murmured, trying to get to his feet. Kirk immediately gripped his arm to help. "Hyposprays only make the nausea worse."

"It would stop the vomiting, though."

"Vomiting helps the nausea."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "Alright, Mr Logic. You should be resting- in _bed_- and I'm gonna call Bones to check you out."

Spock looked at Kirk, squinting in the bathroom light. "Do not bother him. The illness must run its course. Doctor McCoy is only so capable."

"You don't think he's capable at all."

Spock leaned against the sink, reaching for the soap. "He is competent enough. Do you not have something to do?"

"Nah. Sulu's got the conn. I came to check on you."

"Flattering," Spock muttered, drying his hands and turning around.

"You okay now?" Kirk asked, his hand extended as though to help. He looked as though he didn't know if Spock would accept the help or perhaps bite his hand.

Spock straightened as much as he could. "I think... I believe I am functioning enough to walk for the moment. I cannot expect much enthusiasm for later, though."

"Why's that?"

"Because I am starting to experience a... migraine," he filled in pathetically. The word did not cover the epitome of _k'an'tran_ even seventy percent.

"Oh." Kirk stood by, watching awkwardly as Spock stumbled towards his bed. "Are you sure that you don't want me to-"

"No," Spock interrupted. "I will call for the doctor if I need him. I do, however, request that you return to the Bridge. Your worry is unnecessary."

"Fine." Kirk sighed. "Call me if you need anything. I know you wouldn't call Bones if your life depended on it."

"Illogical," Spock replied, wincing as he sat down.

"Yeah, well, nobody's perfect."

Spock raised an eyebrow. Pain radiated through his head with the motion and he was infinitely grateful when the Captain turned and walked out.

* * *

Darkness blossomed across the left side of his vision, smudging out anything that Spock could have wanted to look at. He bit the inside of his cheek and pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead.

He was approximately two point three hours into the _k'an'tran_- the pain phase. Aura lasted through the pain and occasionally into the postdrome stage. Those weren't the correct terms, but they were the human equivalent of the Vulcan terms of _k'an'tran_ stages, even if they didn't match up.

He drew his legs up, pressing his face into his pillow as he curled up against the pain. He hadn't made a noise, refused to give pain the acknowledgement even if it wasn't a sentient being. He could handle it.

It was only a logical response to assume that he could.

"Spock!"

The reaction to the shout outside his door was neither logical or pleasant; he promptly rolled over and threw up on the floor.

"- ugh, that's disgusting," Kirk said.

"Great deduction, Captain Obvious," another voice muttered. It took Spock a minute to realise that it was Doctor McCoy. "Spock?"

Hyperaware was Spock of the footsteps approaching the bed, but he couldn't form words. His mind was in a frenzied disarray. He couldn't form words, let alone speak.

"Spock?" McCoy asked again.

He was much too close and infinitely too loud. Spock was sorely tempted to say, if he were human, of course, 'shut up'. _If_ he were human. As it were, he simply curled up tighter and gripped the pillow, attempting to channel his pain into other actions.

There was a pause and when McCoy spoke again, his voice was quieter. "What's going on, Spock?"

Spock licked his lips. "I... am experiencing a... Vulcan migraine," he said thinly, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Vulcans have their own migraines?" Bones muttered. "Well, shit, man."

Spock tried in vain not to listen to the rustling of fabric, the whir of a tricorder. Footsteps around his room. Everything hurt his head, his soul, his entire being.

"Why don't you go get a towel or something, Jim?" Bones said, sounding distant.

"I'm _not_ cleaning up his puke if that's what you're getting at," Kirk retorted.

"Oh, for God's sake, Jim, grow up."

"You're the doctor, not me. I'll call cleaning."

"The last thing we need is more people around Spock when he's this sick!"

Spock clenched his teeth tightly, a conscious reaction against pain controlled by his acquaintances in the room. Had he not just given voice to the fact that he had a migraine?

"Spock. Sorry. Jim, hallway."

"What? What's wrong?"

"Hallway."

Spock sighed imperceptibly as they walked out. He didn't know when it had started, but he was shivering, entire body wracked with small tremors. He still felt like he was going to throw up, he felt like he was going to dip into unconsciousness without any preemptive decision. It was... a strange experience, Spock reckoned, but nothing that he wanted to experience again.

The door slid open. Spock forced his eyes open, swallowing back nausea as the brightness of the room strung his eyes and made his head throb. Kirk stared back at him, looking uncomfortable.

"Bones put me on bedside watch," he said. "I'm supposed to... erm, watch you, I guess. While he's doing some shit with his hypos..." Kirk rubbed the back of his head before striding across the room. Spock watched with little interest as the Captain vanished behind the door of the bathroom and then reappeared a few seconds later. "Look, I don't know what to do for Vulcan migraines, so I'm just going to sit over there and be quiet, but whenever I get tension headaches, heat usually helps. I figure it might..." he trailed off, holding up a dripping washcloth. "You could at least put it over your eyes."

Spock wouldn't dare to move if he thought he could without ill effects. He just inclined his head ever-so-slightly and closed his eyes again. "Affirmative..."

There was a slight hesitation before the warmth of the cloth was placed over his eyes. He had to force himself not to wince from the pressure at first, but, in all of his stupid decisions, Captain Kirk had made a paramount choice here. The heat brought relief that he hadn't expected, allowing his mind and body to relax more than it had been.

"Lights..." Spock murmured.

"Huh? Oh- Lights, off."

Darkness swallowed the room and Spock sighed heavily, clutching the blanket closer. Gratitude was a human emotion, but Spock would have to make sure to express his thanks to Captain Kirk for his priceless, beneficial advice.

* * *

**Well, this chapter took its sweet time in getting inspired, but I managed to get Chapter Three written. Hopefully, this makes up for the wait between the chapters. :) Anyway, yep. Vulcan migraines. Because Vulcans wouldn't get _normal_ migraines. Just makes it more interesting, in my opinion.**

**Your reviews are always appreciated. Thank you!**


	4. 2204 Hours: Assistance is Required

As much as Spock hated to admit it, he was in dire need of assistance from someone around him. Given that the only person currently in his quarters was Captain Kirk, Spock was looking for the correct words to ask for help.

His head felt like it was about to explode. His stomach ached and churned. He was thoroughly exhausted, even after the past five hours of sleep. His body was aching. He doubted his ability to move, let alone walk.

So, he was contemplating the words to ask his Captain for assistance to walk to the bathroom. It was... strange to be so lacking in self-sufficiency when he was totally used to taking full care of his own self.

He opened his eyes warily. The room was still dark and the cloth against his eyes was still warm. Spock imagined that Kirk had been re-heating it in the meantime of Spock sleeping. He raised a hand slowly, fingertips brushing the warm cloth.

"Spock?"

Spock licked his lips and stretched experimentally. It further proved what he had thought: his body was aching. Although an 'ache' designated only a dull pain, which was nothing of what Spock was experiencing. Again, he doubted his ability to walk on his own.

"... Captain," he said weakly.

"Hey..." Kirk walked over to the bed, looking at him warily. "How are you feeling...?"

"Unwell," Spock said simply. "I am in need of assistance."

"Yeah? What do you need?"

"Assistance," Spock repeated. "In walking. The percentage of the possibility of fainting..." he trailed off, trying to catch his breath to finish the sentence, but Kirk interrupted.

"I really don't think you need to be up and about yet. Bones was here awhile ago; your temperature's up to thirty-five even."

A thirty-five degree fever would explain the body aches and pains, where nothing else would. It logically explained the symptoms and yet... he didn't care about the logic behind what was happening to him. He was just mildly irritated that Kirk was trying to argue with him when Spock didn't feel like countering back.

"Understandable, except requiring use of the lavatory is hardly something I am able of controlling," Spock said tiredly, placing his palm against the mattress to push himself up.

"Oh. Sorry." Kirk offered his hand. "Should have said."

Spock didn't comment as he took Kirk's hand. He focussed, instead, on clenching his teeth against the pain that assailed his body as he moved, as he stumbled to his feet. His legs very nearly did give out from under him and he leaned against Kirk's shoulder, trembling in efforts to keep his mouth shut. Vulcans did not express pain vocally. Vulcans did not cry out.

"You okay?" Kirk asked awkwardly, his hand ghosting Spock's back unassuredly. He seemed unable to decide if Spock needed the support or not. Spock thought that this was the one time that he would not have complained if Kirk put his hand against his back. Physical support would have helped, immensely. He would not, of course, admit to that.

"No," Spock replied. "I do not believe that I can stand for much longer."

"Right. Come on."

Spock had rarely felt so useless. Even in his days at the Academy, he had been designing tests even while studying. He hadn't been at his peak and he had still managed to accomplish a means of feat. As it were with illness, however, he doubted his ability to do anything. He barely managed to walk to the bathroom and back without throwing up or passing out and by the time that he crawled back into bed, he was covered in sweat and shaking.

"I still think I should get Bones..." Kirk said slowly.

Spock pressed his forehead against the pillow, swallowing back a moan. "Perhaps... it would be wise..."

"... You must be really sick to say that," Kirk replied. There was a click and Doctor McCoy's voice filled the air moments later.

_"McCoy here."_

"Bones, Spock's quarters."

_"Is he worse?"_

"He's... not good," Kirk said slowly. "I don't know if anything's changed, really, but he's conscious and hurting."

That was a bit too perceptive, Spock reasoned, but he didn't comment. He didn't know how the Captain knew he was in pain and it wounded his already fragile pride to think that he was failing to maintain his usual façade.

_"Be there in a few minutes. McCoy out."_

"Stay awake if you can," Kirk said, the command falling from his voice as he returned to speaking to Spock. "Bones said he'd be here in a minute."

Spock nodded slightly. His ability to hear hadn't been yet impaired, but he didn't trust himself to speak.

"... You're pale as hell, Spock."

Spock inclined his head in another nod. He wished that Kirk would stop stating the obvious and let him sleep or at least try to meditate.

There was suddenly pressure against his forehead. A slight noise of surprise graced his lips as he pried his eyes open.

Kirk looked down at him hesitantly. "Sorry." He removed his hand, only to place it against Spock's face, palm-down. "You're really warm, Spock..." He removed his hand again, only to take Spock's face in both of his hands seconds later. "Son of a bitch..."

A chill crawled up Spock's spine. He shivered. Jim's hands were warm and it was so stubbornly cold.

Nostalgia hit Spock full force. There was something familiar in the gesture. The last time that he had been ill, really ill, had been in his boyhood. His mother had performed the same action that Kirk was doing now, placing her hands against his face. It was... comforting, in an illogical way.

Spock pressed his face more firmly into Kirk's hands, reaching up blindly. His fingers fell into the mind-meld position on Kirk's face easily, without second thought. He felt him flinch underneath his fingers, but Spock was too consumed in his miserable state of sickness to comprehend.

His head pounded with the elevated beat of his heart. His eyes were heavy and his body felt weak from exhaustion. His stomach was churning, his muscles aching from repeated retching and continued shivering. Breathing was a battle, his breaths were wheezing in his chest, and tears of pain were stinging against his eyes.

It was cold, freezing cold, in the room that was sweltering. Sweat drew his clothes to his body, making illness infinitely more uncomfortable. His ears were ringing, echoing with every noise that he heard through the door of his quarters. Even as his quarters door slid open, light from the hallway flooded his room, making him close his eyes reflexively.

"Spock? Jim!"

Kirk snapped away from Spock's fingers and took off at a run from the room. Spock's hand fell heavily onto the mattress. He couldn't find the strength to move it, or even open his eyes.

"Jim!" McCoy exclaimed.

The sound of vomiting that was not his own met his ears made Spock wrench his eyes open. His eyes flickered towards the source of the sound, his bathroom, before looking to Doctor McCoy.

"Spock, what happened? What were you doing? Spock?"

Spock's eyes fell closed again. His concern for Jim was smothered by the illness. He couldn't voice a question if he wanted to.

"I'm fine..." Kirk's voice said weakly as his footsteps returned. "Transference... Really, Bones. Just help him," he said weakly.

"... Alright. Spock?" McCoy asked. The tricorder whistled nearby. "Hey. Pointy. Tell me how you're feeling."

"Miserable," Jim replied.

"I wasn't asking you, Jim."

"No, but he's miserable. He's got... this terrible headache. Everything hurts. Extreme exhaustion and terrible nausea and shortness of breath... My ears- his ears, sorry, are all closed up or something."

Spock had forced his eyes open again by this point. Both he and Doctor McCoy were looking towards Kirk at this point. Kirk looked back at them, looking uncomfortable.

"He did a mind-meld," Kirk said weakly.

Spock frowned to himself. Mind-meld... He had done that? That was an illogical action. It would only succeed in transferring his own experiences to Captain Kirk... as it seemed to have had. He did not understand why he had chosen that action in a moment of weakness.

"What?" McCoy asked incredulously. "A _mind-meld_? And you could feel what he was feeling?" He fell silent over the whirring of the tricorder. "To coin a phrase, fascinating. From a medical standpoint and all that shit."

A click of a hypospray alerted Spock to further medical assistance a moment before the spray was administered to his arm. He wanted to inquire on the contents but he was too tired. He could hardly explain his own actions, let alone speak.

"What's that?" Kirk asked quietly, leaning heavily against the wall. "What are you giving him?"

"A sedative. And I'm giving him more Stokaline. And then I'm going to go back to the lab and ask M'Benga what he thinks, because this doesn't seem to be working too well."

Another hypospray hiss. Spock couldn't keep his eyes open.

"Actually, Jim, you're going to go back to Sickbay with me so I can run an exam."

"Oh, no-"

"Shut up. I don't know what Spock was thinking but I want to know what he did to you with that mind-meld," McCoy replied.

"He didn't do anything... I just felt what he felt..."

"Stop arguing with me, Jim. I'm the doctor and you're in my territory now."

"Just worry about him, Bones. I've had a mind-meld done on me before; I know what it feels like."

"Oh yeah? When have you done a mind-meld? And with who?"

"It's one hell of a long story, Bones. I'm alright... I'm just worried about him."

"Hm..."

Spock felt eyes staring at him but he couldn't respond. He was far too tired and the sedative was taking effect. His companion's voices trailed off into muffled vocals as he drifted into unconsciousness.

* * *

**There's an explanation as to why Spock did a mind-meld and it involves his childhood. Kid!Spock in the first movie is. so. cute. So I can't resist delving into his childhood (just a bit). And don't worry; it's not going to be terribly outlandish. It'll even have references to canon.**

**Cute awkward friends are cute. Jim's awkward as hell, Spock's too sick to care, and McCoy is his usual self. :p**

**NOTE: A Vulcan's normal temperature is 32.8 Celsius. So, 35 Celsius would be a fever for a Vulcan.**

**Keep up your great support! I love it. :) Thank you!**


	5. 0741 Hours: Certain Vulcan Sass

Spock awoke drenched in his own sweat and shivering uncontrollably. These were indicators that the flu was still ravaging his body and he rolled over, muffling a groan into his pillow.

"Spock?"

An uncharacteristic feeling of heat rushed to his face when he realized that he was not alone. Hazy memories of Doctor McCoy and Captain Kirk and something about a mind-meld came back slowly, as he blinked his eyes open.

Kirk was sitting at his desk, feet propped up, holobook projected mid-air. Now he was looking past the holobook and at Spock.

"You alright?"

Spock licked his lips and swallowed back a groan of discontent. He would not be making another sound if he could help it. That was very un-Vulcan-like of him.

"The fever is still present," he managed hoarsely, clearing his throat weakly. "If not higher."

"Do you want, I don't know, water or something?"

"Water would be... satisfactory," Spock muttered, painstakingly pushing himself into a sitting position.

"Stay still. If your fever's higher, I don't even want to know how you feel."

Spock gingerly leaned back against the headboard. "I have had time to reassess my symptoms and compensate accordingly."

"Compensate? How can you _compensate_ for a fever? Sparkling or distilled?" Kirk asked, stopping next to the replicator.

"The carbonation may have more effect," Spock said shortly, hunkering down further into the blankets. "As for your other inquiry... I am a Vulcan. We have the ability to..."

"Heal yourselves, yeah?" Kirk said, handing over the glass of bubbling water. "But does that work with a fever?"

"It... assists," Spock said shortly, sipping at the water.

Kirk watched him for a moment, eyes narrowed. "Your face is green."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Flushing is commonly associated with elevated body temperature."

"_Woah_, you blush _green_?"

"It should be common knowledge that all species do not have the same type of blood. And as Doctor McCoy is fond of-" he coughed as the carbonation of the water tickled his nose- "fond of pointing out, I have green blood."

Kirk grinned, throwing himself back into the chair again. "That's awesome. What I wouldn't give for a picture right now."

Spock sipped at the water again. "I would not appreciate such an action." He coughed again, pausing in drinking to try and catch his breath.

He wasn't lying when he said he had the ability to compensate for the illness. He couldn't heal it on his own, per se, but he could downplay the symptoms in his mind. Pain and the uncomfortable feeling associated with illness was simply a state of mind. He could control it.

Still, it didn't help the _actual_ fever or the fact that he felt like he was going to regurgitate any liquid he consumed in the next ten minutes.

Nonetheless, he sipped at his water again, closing his eyes.

"Bones was here for awhile. He said you were dead to the world. I think you were starting to worry him," Kirk said cheerfully. "I made him go back to Sickbay."

Resisting the urge to wonder exactly _how_ the Captain had removed Doctor McCoy from the premises, Spock took another drink of the water.

"I believe that I slipped into the Vulcan healing state without conscious design. It would explain why I am feeling marginally better."

Kirk snorted. "Bullshit. Don't try to give me your _I'm fine_ crap; it won't work on me."

"I did not say that I was fine. I merely said that I was feeling marginally better." Spock set the empty glass down. "I apologise about the use of the mind-meld. I was not making a conscious decision to perform the action."

"Yeah, thanks for that," Kirk said dryly.

"It was not my intention to imprint my experiences upon your consciousness," Spock said shortly. "It was something that..." He hesitated. "It was something that I used to do to my mother when I was sick as a child."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "_Really_?"

"Why is it that you sound so incredulous?"

"I don't know. Why did you do that to your mom?"

Spock shuffled back slightly. Not wanting to seem ungracious as a host, he didn't want to lay back down, but his back was aching and his head was starting to pound again.

"Lay down," Kirk commanded, as if he could read his mind.

Spock didn't argue the point, letting himself settle back into the blankets. Sometimes, as spontaneous and wild as Kirk could be, Spock was oftentimes pleased with the Captain's keen intelligence on some things.

"Now, you were saying."

"Being a Vulcan... It was difficult to express my state of health to my mother while I was ill. It was more easy for both of us simply to share the symptoms so that my mother could treat them accordingly," Spock said slowly.

"Oh. Cool." Kirk's tone of voice stated simply that it was not '_cool_', but that he was voicing sentiment for the sake of it.

"I do not understand how the fact of a mind-meld for illness can be considered 'cool'. Temperature has no impact nor relevance-"

"Just... forget it."

Spock 'forgot it' and drew his pillow closer, pressing two fingers against either of his temples.

"You've got a headache again?"

"Yes."

"Warm cloth?"

"Yes," Spock allowed.

"Alright."

He curled over onto his right side, shuffling the blankets over one chilled, pointy ear. He hated to sleep on Captain Kirk's watch, but it seemed that he was ordered to do little else. Too unwilling to put voice to the question in his mind as Kirk gave a little laugh somewhere behind him, Spock dozed off again.

* * *

He only woke up to throw up.

His body was still fighting nausea (and losing). Hadn't he just persuaded his body that this was all a matter of will? Of Vulcan will and strength?

The half human part of him perhaps had an effect on how great he was at managing things such as pain or illness.

As it were, he awoke with a start with the acrid taste of bile on the back of his tongue. Kirk, who had been standing over him for reasons that Spock did not know, jumped with the sudden movement as Spock pushed himself into a sitting position.

One look at Spock's face must have shown how equally terrible Spock felt at that moment, because Kirk swept the trash can off the floor and shoved it into Spock's arms before hastily retreating to the desk again.

Spock threw up what little he had in his stomach before setting the bin back down, dropping (flopping, if he were thinking more) back onto the pillows.

"Do you want me to call Bones?" Kirk asked uncertainly.

"No, I do _not_," Spock bit off, a little more vehemently than he intended to.

The Captain stared at him for a moment before cracking a smile. "Wow, that's the first time I've ever heard _emotion_ in your voice."

Spock closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands to them. His fingers were shaking.

"I was just waiting for the tricorder to settle," Kirk said, stepping close again. "Bones left it here so I could keep tabs on your temp. Do you mind?"

"As you were," Spock mumbled, not removing his hands.

The tricorder whirred for a few seconds before Kirk made a noise of disgust. Spock was prompted to open his eyes, looking towards his Captain.

"Your expression does not bode well for my state of health."

"Thirty seven one. You're up to normal human temp."

Spock clenched his teeth around a groan. "Explains the sudden reoccurrence of vomiting."

"Yeah... _How_ are you still conscious?"

"I can withstand higher temperatures than humans..."

"Because if I had a fever that high, I'd be dead."

Spock shivered. "A forty-one degree fever is not necessarily deadly to humans."

"Well, I wouldn't be conscious and/or talking."

"I would rather enjoy not to be talking, either," Spock retorted.

He realised his mistake as soon as it was out of his mouth. The comment was not suited for a Vulcan and certainly not for a Vulcan first officer talking to his Captain. It was a breach of ethics, in every sense of the word.

His cheeks burned. He opened his eyes again to meet the shocked gaze that Captain Kirk was giving him, preparing to make an arduous apology that was not common for Vulcans, either. As he opened his mouth to speak, the emotion clear in Kirk's gaze cut him off.

Mirth.

Kirk was... laughing at him?

Yes, he was; it was made obvious quite quickly when Kirk's twinkling eyes turned to full-out laughter.

Spock wasn't sure whether to apologise now or not. He closed his mouth, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"Oh, Spock, the _attitude_. I _love_ it," Kirk laughed. He flopped down at the end of the bed and Spock hastened to move his legs before Kirk's weight could land on them. "You really _are_ half human, aren't you? I was beginning to wonder."

Spock briefly pondered the length of time that it would take Captain Kirk to get away from the bed if Spock threw up again, but ultimately he decided against it. He already felt sick enough without adding to it.

Instead, he just drew his legs more firmly to his chest and tried to draw the blankets closer. Kirk's weight on them prevented them from moving and he resisted the childish urge to tell Kirk to _get off his blankets_.

His mental state really was declining. There was no question in that and there was nothing to do but close his eyes and fall into the unconscious state where he knew that he couldn't say things that he never, ever should.

* * *

**Because the only time that Spock would ever have attitude is when he's really sick. **

**I made the note in last chapter that a Vulcan's normal temperature is 32.8 Celsius. So, 35 would have been a fever last chapter. 37 (normal human temperature) would be quite high, but, given Vulcan's state of temperature, it seems likely that Vulcans could withstand higher temperatures better. That's just a bit of speculation on my behalf. ****(For those who only use Fahrenheit [which I would _love_ to use in this story, because Fahrenheit is what _I_ use in America, but _Trek_ uses Celsius in the movies...], 32.8 is about 91 Fahrenheit. 37 is about 98.6. It's a bit confusing, yeah.) Secondly, don't know if Vulcans can heal illness with their mental/healing trance, but it would seem like it could help the symptoms, to me.**

**I do not own _Star Trek_. Thank you!**


	6. 1522 Hours: Awkward Friendship

When Spock woke up again, he was pleasantly surprised about how warm it was. From the fever-induced chilliness to the air to this comfortable state of approximately... ninety-nine? degrees, he could say nothing except that it was enjoyable.

He fumbled for the blankets, intent on settling them over his shoulders again, he found that the blankets wouldn't move. Irritable beyond a point that was acceptable for Vulcans, Spock pulled on the fabric more insistently.

It gave, and the folds of fabric settled upon his neck... as an arm fell over his shoulders moments later.

Spock believed the human saying was to 'jump like you've been shot'- which he must admit was illogical more than usual; how would one feel up to jumping if they had been shot?- when one flinched in surprised. So, it was suitable to say that he jumped as though he had been shot at the sudden pressure of the human appendage over his torso.

Heart hammering, Spock realised why it was that it was so warm. Captain Kirk was... he was... sleeping... next to...

"Captain?" Spock asked- more said- feeling a wave of disapproval as he heard his voice being a half octave above where it normally was. "Jim!"

Kirk seemed oblivious, probably was, too, and simply pressed closer into the warmth that was Spock's fever radiating off of him.

Chest heaving, Spock fought back the fight or flight reflex. He would not harm his Captain. This was his Captain. No matter how... illogical... irrational... _improper_...

Spock drew in a deep breath through his nose, forcing himself to lie very still.

When he spoke again- approximately seven point six seconds later- his voice was calm and collected, volume increased. "Captain _Kirk_. Wake up."

Kirk mumbled something and shuffled onto his back. At least with the new arrangement, Kirk's forehead was no longer pressed against the small of his back, his hair no longer tickling like sweat dripping down his back.

"Captain," Spock repeated, having a slight notion that calling him _Jim_ right now would only lead the aloof Captain into thinking that he was in bed with one of his... female acquaintances. It wasn't until after he thought that that he thought maybe calling him _Captain_ was a bad idea, too.

Kirk sighed heavily. Spock repeated his name again, resisting the urge to simply push Kirk off the bed. Illogical and improper.

"What d'ya want, Spock...?" Kirk muttered sleepily. There was a slight pause before Kirk let loose with a yelped exclamation of a colourful metaphor as he scrambled to get out of bed. He ended up falling to the floor in his haste, but Spock could not garner enough interest in the resulting thud to inquire on Kirk's safety.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, squeezing his eyes shut. Personal boundaries were back. No interruptions. Control.

His temporal lobes pounded painfully.

He needed to meditate. Immediately.

"Shit. Shit," Kirk said again, seemingly unable to process words. "Sh... I'm sorry, I just- son of a bitch." His voice was muffled, and Spock chanced a glance to find Kirk burying his face in his hands. "I am _so_ sorry," he said, looking up again. His face was red and he would not meet Spock's gaze.

Spock would have been puzzled at the reaction of embarrassment if he had actually _cared_ enough to. His Vulcan physiology was still coming down from the shock of having someone so close, much less his Captain. He didn't have the capacity to feel embarrassment, only sheer... Violation? He wasn't even sure what he was feeling. He was not allowed to feel. While casual physical contact was unwarranted and unwelcome, emotions were almost as just.

Control.

"Spock?" Kirk's voice was hesitant.

"Your sentiment is unnecessary, Captain," Spock managed. "It is logical. You have been working around the clock. No apologies are necessary." Now that Kirk had vacated himself from his bed, Spock took a moment to stretch inconspicuously.

"Ugh." Kirk strode to the other side of the room. He jambed his fist onto the computer controls. "Bones!"

Doctor McCoy's voice filtered through after a moment. _"McCoy here."_

"Isn't it time for Spock's next dose?"

_"What? Oh... shit. Yes. We've had another breakout of that fever down here in Sickbay. I'll send an orderly to you."_ A pause, broken by rustling in the background and McCoy saying something on the offhand, to a nurse. _"How is he?"_ he asked, louder again.

Kirk looked across the room at Spock.

"My symptoms have diminished," Spock said. "The headache is the worst of the symptoms, which I should be able to combat with meditation..." he trailed off. He vainly hoped that Kirk would understand the underlying meaning that Spock wanted him to leave so he could meditate, and knew without conscious thought that Kirk would not 'get it'.

"You hear that?" Kirk asked, looking back at the computer monitor.

_"Yeah, I heard him and I don't believe that. Let me talk to him."_

"I am listening, Doctor."

_"I'm not talking to the wall, dammit!"_

Kirk sighed and swivelled the computer to face Spock. Spock raised an eyebrow at McCoy's picture on the screen.

_"Now, Spock, enlighten me. You were sick as a dog not twelve hours ago. You're just magically-_ poof_- better?"_

"I did not say that I had made a full recovery. I simply said that my symptoms had diminished."

_"Well?"_

Spock raised both eyebrows in question.

_"Tell me what your symptoms are, you green-blooded hobgoblin! Jeez."_

"Since I woke up, my headache has intensified-" although mostly for reasons that he was not going to admit to Doctor McCoy- "and my eyes feel swollen. There are pervading aches and pain. My body seems to have become more acclimatised to the temperature in my quarters. Although it would not harm to set the temperature in my room higher," he said, flicking his gaze towards Kirk.

"It's already boiling in here!" Kirk exclaimed.

_"Don't touch that temperature,"_ McCoy snapped. _"I want your _body_ temperature first before you do that. Healing atmosphere or not, it won't do any good with a fever. Listen, Jim, I've got a mess down here, I've got to go. Call me if anything changes. Dirks'll tell you more. Bones out."_

Kirk frowned and Spock returned his gaze to the ceiling as McCoy's image flickered from the screen. He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths, pushing the blankets away from himself a moment later.

"What are you doing now?"

"At present, I am going to have a sonic shower." He paused at Kirk's dumbfounded look. "Is there a problem?"

"How can you _feel_ like having a _shower_?"

"We have no other means of getting oneself clean."

"You've been _sick_."

"That, Captain, is very much the obvious fact here," Spock replied, shifting his weight uncomfortably. As much as Kirk made a fuss about him being sick, he knew that he was, and he also knew that if he did not get into the shower soon, he would not be able to stand _through_ an entire shower.

"You don't need to be overex... oh hell, I'm not one to talk. Just hurry up," Kirk said, waving his hand towards the bathroom. "Bones'll skin me if he knew I let you out of bed."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I do not believe that Doctor McCoy would skin you. He is a healer, not a psychopath."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "That's debatable. Go shower. You look like shit."

Spock permitted himself a brief shake of the head at Kirk's slang and strode into the bathroom.

* * *

"Why'd you let him out of bed?" McCoy demanded.

"Bones, you know I can't stop him."

"He doesn't need to be romping around!"

"Romping around? He's having a _shower_, not having sex," Kirk retorted.

"How long has he been in there?"

"How the hell should I know? I'm not timing him."

"Dammit, Jim, what if he collapsed?"

"If he collapsed, I would have heard him collapse. Duh," Kirk said in a tone of the obvious.

"I don't hear him making _any_ noise," McCoy said.

"I don't care to walk in on him while he's in the shower," Kirk fired back. "Anyway, I thought you were sending Dirks here with a hypo, not you. I thought you were busy!"

"Don't change the subject. I figured maybe you and Spock would create problems for Dirks so I decided to stop by myself."

"When do we ever cause problems?"

"Right now."

There was a buzz on the bathroom door. Spock opened his eyes with only the slightest twitch of a frown.

"Spock?"

Spock cleared his throat. "Yes, Doctor?"

"If you're still alive, you need to get back in bed," McCoy stated.

"It would be logical to assume that I am, in fact, alive, due to fact that I am speaking to-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. You got clothes on?"

"Bones, you are so-" Kirk started, but McCoy cut him off.

"Shut up, Jim. Spock?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm coming in."

Given that the doctor and the Captain had been hovering outside his bathroom door for the past six point three minutes, the breach of his privacy was not wholly unexpected. The complaints that would follow would, of course, were expected also.

"Spock, you- hot _damn_," McCoy said, immediately reaching for the temperature controls as steam rushed out of the bathroom. "I told you not to touch the temperature!"

"My core temperature is at an acceptable range to increase the atmospheric temperature," Spock replied calmly.

"Come on, get up. Get back to bed!"

Spock calmly pushed himself to his feet, pleased when he did not sway. He had not been lying; his temperature was back down. He didn't need a tricorder to tell him that. The hasty sonic shower had woken him up a bit and he had slipped on the traditional black Vulcan robes while Kirk had stepped out. Then he had turned back to the bathroom, turned the heating system up, and settled into meditation. If he had to meditate under cover of taking a shower, so be it. He wanted privacy and quiet; two things that he seemed to be missing out on lately.

"As you wish, doctor, but I can assure you that I have been restored to near-complete health."

"Oh yeah? You got a bag of Vulcan magic tricks we don't know about?" McCoy asked, powering on the tricorder.

"I have a Vulcan healing trance," Spock replied easily, not flinching from the close proximity of the tricorder behind his shoulder.

"Oh, yeah, that trance... if you've got that, why did you take so long?"

"I was..." Spock paused, searching for the words he wanted. "Unable to reserve enough mental strength to correctly capture the trance."

"So, you were too sick," McCoy said.

Spock sat on the edge of his bed. "I believe I said that, Doctor."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Well, your temperature is back down to thirty-four. I guess that trance does work. It'll be lucky if it doesn't go back up now..."

Spock arched his back in a subtle stretch. "I am seventy nine percent positive that it will not."

"Great. Headache?"

"Minimal."

"Stomach?"

"The nausea is gone."

"Light-headedness?"

"Also absent, as well as the vertigo."

"Sensitivity to light, sound...?"

"Minimal."

"Would the prisoner like something to nosh on while he's being interrogated?" Kirk asked, sarcastically, from his place of sitting at Spock's desk, feet propped up and arms behind his head.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "'Nosh on'?

"Food, Spock," Kirk said, exasperatedly.

"Oh. Tea would be sufficient."

"You can't live off of tea," Kirk muttered, but went to the replicator all the same.

"Jim's right; you need to eat. Pick something or I'll pick for you."

"_Plomeek_ soup."

"_Ugh_," Kirk muttered, switching out the data cards for the replicator.

"Shut up, Jim. Just get it for him."

"Yes, sir," Kirk said sarcastically. "Happy to please, sir."

Spock watched his acquaintances' glance towards each other, the lazy smile that they bounced off of each other. He raised an eyebrow at their interaction.

Friends... He wasn't sure that he would get to the concept for a long time.

Still, Spock thought as he settled back more comfortably into the middle of his bed, crossing his legs as the old Americans used to say 'Indian style', it wasn't a terribly unwelcome concept to ponder.

* * *

**But the little motion right there at the end with Spock relaxing while they're around signals that he does care for them more than the average person, y'know? :)**

**Secondly, I know some people asked if this would become a Spirk story, so I hope that I did not offend or annoy anyone with the platonic sleeping together that transpired here. I love platonic sleeping together for my fandoms. If I offended you, I'm sorry. That was not my intention. I just wanted some awkwardness between them.**

**I do not own _Star Trek_. Love to hear your comments as usual; thanks!**


	7. 0530 Hours: Welcome Back (To the Bridge)

"_Shit_!"

"Captain, you are so predictable that you are nearly transparent in your actions during this game," Spock said, moving the chess piece to the top level. "Checkmate."

"No, it's because you... sit around and play chess against the computer when you're bored," Kirk muttered, reaching for the pieces to put them back on the board. "Again."

"Captain, Beta shift is nearly half over. You must return to your quarters to get some rest."

"And Bones would kill me if he knew I had you up playing chess with me, but I don't care," Kirk retorted, continuing with the chess pieces.

"I am not exerting myself, Captain," Spock said.

True to his word, he had not been out of bed. It made him feel incredibly unproductive, but he knew that Doctor McCoy was correct in saying that he would not benefit himself if he overexerted himself before he was completely healthy.

So, he had been sleeping and, when Kirk had bounded into his quarters at the end of Alpha shift, had joined in a three-dimensional chess competition with him.

"I don't know if that's supposed to be a subtle Vulcan way of saying that I suck at this game or if you're being literal," Kirk said, moving a pawn.

"I was speaking in the literal sense, of course," Spock replied, countering with his own move.

"Of course," Kirk muttered, rolling his eyes with a grin. Whatever he was about to add was cut off by a yawn so large that Spock raised an eyebrow. Kirk, one hand in front of his mouth, waved his free hand dismissively. "The only reason you keep winning is because I'm tired."

"I mentioned that it would be wise for you to get some rest."

Kirk leaned back over the end of the bed, stretching backwards with a groan. "Sleeping's so _boring_, Spock. I- woah!" With a crashing noise, Kirk had lost his balance and fallen backwards off of the end of the bed.

Both of Spock's eyebrows shot up. "Captain? Are you uninjured?"

"Physically, I'm fine. My pride, however..." Kirk trailed off, not making a move to sit up. "Oh hell, maybe I should go to bed. I'm not gonna win this stupid game when I'm sleep deprived."

"I fail to see how a chess game can be designated as something that is not intelligent."

"Anyone who plays chess against you has a seventy-nine percent chance of feeling 'not intelligent' at the end of it," Kirk replied.

"I believe that is a compliment, Captain."

Kirk snorted. There was some movement from the floor, but Kirk didn't resurface.

Spock didn't question it, instead focussed on moving the chess set to the nightstand next to the bed. When he had transferred the set and turned back around to find that Kirk had not set up yet, he raised an eyebrow again.

"Captain, are you sure that you are unharmed?"

"Yep. I'm just gonna stay here for a few minutes. The floor's actually comfortable."

Spock didn't comment, again, just as he didn't comment when Kirk started snoring a few minutes later.

Spock just resisted the urge to roll his eyes- Vulcans did not adopt that particular human mannerism- and curled up under the blankets, pressing one of his pillows over his exposed ear.

* * *

"Good to have you back, Commander," Kirk said, when Spock stepped out of the turbolift and onto the Bridge.

"Captain, you have been in my company for the past three days," Spock said, striding to his station. "There has not been an absence of communication."

Kirk grinned and leaned back in his chair. "Good to have you back on the Bridge, then, Mr Spock."

"I believe the correct response is 'I am glad to be back, Captain'."

The turbolift doors slid open.

"Dammit, Spock, I was talking to you!" McCoy said, stepping onto the Bridge.

Kirk snickered and looked back at the viewing screen, shoulders shaking with now-repressed laughter. (McCoy had shot him what humans called a dirty look.)

"My presence was required on the Bridge," Spock replied simply, eyes intent on the screens in front of him.

"Not immediately, it wasn't," McCoy retorted.

"Doctor, I have allowed you to doctor me for the past three days. I appreciate your services but I assure you that I am fine."

"'My services'? What the hell am I, a prostitute?" McCoy snapped. "I didn't give you permission to leave Sickbay."

"I was not in Sickbay."

"You know I meant, you green-blooded hobgoblin..." he muttered, rolling his eyes. "I still didn't tell you to leave your quarters."

Spock looked across the Bridge to McCoy. "I am not ill. My temperature has returned to thirty-two point eight. I feel healthy. I have even accumulated a surplus of sleep that I would be able to stay awake for longer than usual."

"Yeah, that's great, Spock," McCoy replied. "Jim, dammit, he spends too much time with you. He's starting to act like you."

Spock frowned infinitesimally. McCoy had a spectacular tendency to, to coin a human term, get on his nerves. He had escaped 'Sickbay' only to be said that he acted like Jim Kirk.

... He didn't, did he?

Of course not.

Spock tweaked one of the screens, frowning at one of the readings. "Captain, there is an unusual amount of radiation reading from a star in the next quadrant."

"Really? _Finally_, something's going on in this place besides shipping around ore and jewels and Rigelian fever." Kirk joined him, peering over his shoulder at the screen.

"Wonderful," McCoy said. "I don't know about you, Jim, but I could do with leave."

"Yeah, yeah, Bones, after we're done with this cargo shit," Jim replied, leaning closer.

Spock leaned out of the way. "Your proximity to the screen is not going to change the radiation readings, Captain."

Kirk grinned and leaned back. "Sorry. _Finally_ something to do besides play chess with you!" He turned and practically bound away to his chair. "Sulu, take us the long way around that star. Spock, I want further readings on that."

"Now wait just a damn minute-" McCoy started.

"Bones, get down to Sickbay and get ready to accept people from the nearby planet for radiation poisoning if necessary."

"... Oh, fine. Spock, don't push it!" With that, McCoy turned back for the turbolift.

"I am not 'pushing it', doctor," Spock said, his attention already on the radiation information.

"Uhura, open a channel with the _Lotherian_ group on that planet. Spock, I need to know if it's entered their atmosphere yet."

"I am calculating the distance it has travelled. I require a moment to analyze," Spock replied.

Maybe Doctor McCoy had been correct in thinking that he was similar to Captain Kirk. While Spock did not think that he was anywhere near as emotional, sentimental, foolhardy, hyperactive, cocky... anything that made Captain Kirk Captain Kirk... Spock had to admit that he had sorely... _missed_ the action that came from being on the Bridge of the _USS Enterprise_ with Jim Kirk as its Captain. Laying back and letting others take care of problems was not his style. He would much rather be in the middle of it- not commanding it, but standing by to assist- and he was very like Jim Kirk in the sense that he thrived on Starfleet's action.

It wasn't very Vulcan worthy. But...

"Captain, the readings that I am analyzing seem to indicate some radiation has entered their atmosphere. Evacuation will be necessary immediately," he said, straightening up.

"Uhura, that channel-"

"There's too much interference, Captain, I can't get through."

"Shit. Sulu, belay last order. We're going down there."

Spock looked towards his Captain. "Captain, I do not believe that that is a beneficial action-"

"Duly noted, Spock, now go suit up!"

Spock stared at the back of Kirk's blonde head for a moment, eyebrow climbing up in near exasperation, before he nodded. "Yes, sir."

He would not have this any other way. He would not want to be anywhere else. His duty was aboard the _Enterprise_, with Jim Kirk at his side. Through Rigelian Kassaba fever, cargo ships, or radiation poisoning, these were his... friends.

These people were a part of his family, and the _Enterprise_ would always be home.

* * *

**So I started playing the _Star Trek_ video game (look, if you don't like it, don't tell me about it. I know it got bad reviews, and yes, there's certain things I don't like, but I like it as a whole) and the chess scene in the game influenced the first part of this chapter. And maybe just a bit too sentimental for nu!Spock at the end of this chapter, but I had to do something all warm and fuzzy. ****I'm sorry for those who wanted more SpUhura (? whatever you guys call it). I just couldn't do it. :p**

**For the anonymous reader who was asking about a story request: sorry, no; I don't (generally) do stories with OCs.**

**I hope you all liked this story (and there's another sick!fic planned, but not like this...) and if you read it, liked it, didn't like it, etc, drop a review if you feel so inclined. As usual, I don't own this. Thank you!**

**Live long and prosper.**


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